The Clone
The Clone (A CTI/1976 Fanfiction) Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here? What's My purpose? What's my name? ''YOU ARE: A CHICKEN / YOU ARE IN : / YOU ARE A / YOUR NAME IS '' The first thing he felt was unbearable cold. Then suddenly, warmth spread through his... body? He opened his eyes and was confused. There was knowledge in his brain, but he didn't know where it came from. He didn't even know his name. He sat up and looked around. All around him were steel tables, each with a seemingly lifeless chicken on it. There was a plaque on each of the tables, each with a number and a letter. The chicken read. His name was 045A, apparently. 045 got up off of the table and looked around for an exit. Where was he? He struggled to think, but that knowledge wasn't there. He walked over to a door and opened it. It lead out into a dark corridor. 045A kept a wing on the wall and walked into the darkness. His wing flipped a switch and lights came on. What? He was in a corridor with chairs on one wall and nothing on the other. He waked over to a chair and sat down in it. Something jabbed into his back. Knowledge flooded his brain. His name was indeed 045. He was a chicken, a clone of a chicken who lived long, long, ago. He was in an underground cloning center below a city named Uptown. He was not supposed to be operational yet. He was supposed to be still sleeping, to be woken up later when he was in his new house on 45, 'A' Street. He was an error, an anomaly. Because of that flaw, he needed to be disposed of. The signal was already out. He would be dead within the hour. At that, 045 started to panic. The lights flickered and dimmed, and strange shadows appeared. He thought he heard machinery... He needed to arm himself. He looked around for anything, but the only convenient weapon was the fire extinguisher. He grabbed it by the nozzle, thinking of using it like a mace. Suddenly, the door opened. 045 Didn't know what he did, but the next thing he knew, he was standing over the still sparking remains of a robot. He ran out of the room, looking for a better weapon. He noticed a fire axe in a glass case, and hurried to arm himself. He barley picked it up when another robot appeared, guns blazing. 045 somehow was missed by the bullets except for one that hit his wing. He swiftly decapitated the robot and looked for an exit sign. He saw one, and ran as fast as his legs could take him. Along the way, he decapitated a few more robots, only suffering a hit to his left leg. He arrived at an elevator limping, and quickly pressed the up button. He scrambled into the elevator, and it began to rise. Light. Blinding sunlight. 045 limped out of the elevator, and was blinded by the sun. He dropped his hatchet and looked around. His wing had mysteriously stopped bleeding, and the bullet wound on his leg had clotted. He inspected it further and was shocked. Any normal chicken would have died by now from blood loss, but he seemed to be fine. However, he needed to find someone with medical knowledge to confirm that he was O.K. He looked around. He was standing on the peak of a tall mountain, part of a long mountain range. Nestled between this mountain and another mountain was a large city, with tall shining skyscrapers and lots of parks. This must be Uptown. He thought. Two hours later, he was in the city. He felt surprisingly good, even though he had just been shot twice. Heck, he felt better than he ever did! He went to the nearest chicken and asked where the nearest clinic was. “Why?” The chicken asked. He spotted the bullet wounds and jumped. “Wait, you've been shot?” 045 nodded sadly. “Well, there’s a joke going around that if you were going to get shot, this was the best place to be.” “Why?” “You don’t know? This is Uptown University, the foremost medical research facility on this side of the globe! You don’t seem to be losing that much blood… head to that building over there. Someone there can help you.” 045 went inside he building. Inside, a chicken spotted his bullet wounds and jumped. “My god, someone here just got shot!” He shouted. Mere seconds later, 045 was being dragged away to a room, chickens wearing white coats all around him. He caught snippets of conversations. “Not losing blood…” “What happened?” “Alert the CTGA…” “Definitely not…” “Medical wonder…” “Observation center..” Suddenly, everyone left except for one chicken who was scribbling on a clipboard. “What’s your name?” He asked quickly. “045A.” 045 said. The other chicken handed him a sheet of paper with a lot of printed writing on it. 040: Soldier, sharpshooter. 041: Soldier, tactical thinker. 042: Soldier, brute force. 043: Soldier, common skills. 044: Soldier, commander. 045: Soldier, genetically modified. “What’s this?” 045 asked. “Why am I listed as ‘genetically modified?’” “One of the most treasured documents of Uptown University is the Book of 1000. It lists all of the DNA donors and what their skills were. For example, my name is 960, and in the Book it lists me as ‘Medical doctor, psychologist.’” Knowledge began to dawn on 045. Then he was gripped in cold terror. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?” He asked nervously. “Of course not!” 960 laughed. “You’re the fifth one to come this way. We don’t really operate inside of the CRA, we just do research for them. Even on my identification I am listed as ‘non citizen’. It can be a blessing and a curse.” “How?” “We know a lot of things that a regular citizen does not know. Like about the cloning centers, other countries, and even about the robots. However, if we take one step out of line, let one little thing slip…” 960 mimed slitting his throat. 045 shivered. “So what do I do now?” He asked quietly. “Ah, that’s easy.” 960 said. “You change your name and go back into society. We make you a fake ID and you live your life as it would have been, abiet with knowledge about what really makes the world turn." They bandaged his bullet wounds, and while they did so, they informed him about the outside world. “The CRA uses a lot of brainwashing to get the citizens to believe that they are the only country in the world, but there actually a lot more. There are a lot more countries other than what they make them think there are.” The technician talking to him said. “Then why doesn't the CRA go and take full control of you guys here at Uptown?” 045 asked. The technician smiled. “Brainwashed people don’t make good scientists and doctors.” The technician said. “They at least tolerate our presence here, and don’t try to do anything. However, they made it perfectly clear that if one of us does anything suspicious…” The smile disappeared off of the technician’s face. The next day, 045 received is fake ID and a new identity. He was now 176, ‘Combat expert, genetically modified.’ He had been cloned in the Las Vegas cloning center, and lived there in a house on 176, 6A street. He tried to start a small self defense class, but the plan was rejected by the CRA. From there he left the town and worked as a handyman until he somehow ended up in Uptown.